


Marks

by EllaNutella



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Identity, Introspection, Qunari, Saarebas, Sataareth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4584489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaNutella/pseuds/EllaNutella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris arrives in Skyhold, and finds the Inquisition is comprised of people he wouldn't expect in positions of power -- including Sataareth Adaar, a qunari and a mage. Throughout his time at Skyhold, he challenges and is challenged by several other members of the Inquisition. Each struggles to reconcile their doubts regarding leadership with their own difficult histories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marks

Their voices carried in the stone halls of Skyhold. She had no wish to eavesdrop, particularly when the conversation so clearly referred to her. Even with the door closed, she could catch snatches, just enough to worry her. But nor could she move all the books Josephine had set up in the small study two floors up to help her get a grasp on – well, everything. Someone would have to move, and it wouldn’t be her. She padded quietly down the stairs, with every intention to let them know she, and perhaps the rest of Skyhold, could hear them. 

But at Varric’s voice, she stopped short just shy of the corner rounding to Varric’s room, where a large table stood, usually covered in bits of draft and his spare spectacles. 

She pressed herself against the wall, able to hear but not see, intentions evaporated. 

“And what am I going to be able to do about it?” he asked. The sound of rustling papers indicated his discontent. “Even if I felt strongly about it, I’m hardly going to get in the Seeker’s way.“ 

There was a low growl. "Are you so quick to forget what happened in Kirkwall?" 

A short silence. Sataareth winced. "That’s not something you forget.” His casual tone returned quickly. “But Kirkwall wasn’t about who was in charge. Look, elf – not everything is about mages. Sometimes, it’s just something in the water." 

"A mage, Varric. A qunari one. Leading a willing army. This is  _worse_ than Anders. At least he had some opposition.” The scrape of a chair indicated an agitated movement. “Hawke’s made her…  _point_  about mages. But even she might say handing over forces for someone like  _that_ to command is foolish –”

Varric’s short puffs of laughter were punctuated with a slap of the table. Sataareth had only seen the elf’s face once, but she could imagine he didn’t look pleased at the reaction. “Have you  _met_ her, elf? I don’t think she could command a nug out of a basket if she turned it upside down." 

Sataareth smiled briefly to herself. 

“I have  _seen_ the destruction a saarebas could produce, let alone one without an arvaarad or their karataam.” 

“I was there for the invasion, elf, and I can tell you it’s not the same.”

Sataareth raised a hand to her missing horn, an involuntary motion, automatic. One more person in the Inquisition who knew what the jagged edges of the horn meant, even half-finished. What had been an uncomfortable but private truth was becoming more public than she liked. 

"And the Tevinter she has advising her?” he spat. 

This Fenris, he wasn’t yelling, but his tone was heavy with the willingness to settle in for a long argument. This was not the first time he’d had arguments like this, and probably wouldn’t be the last. 

“And that in and of itself doesn’t strike you as a  _little_ odd? The Ben-Hassrath hasn’t arrested her either. Oh, yes, we have one of those, too." 

Fenris cleared his throat, taken aback. "And I thought we were an odd group.”

“This is the stuff of legends. Even I can’t make this shit up." 

“If your Ben-Hassrath is anything like Tallis, I’m not surprised the saarebas runs free.” 

Varric made a drawn-out noise of uncertainty. “They’re… both adaptable to… the non-Qunari world, but they’re not really the same.” 

Fenris snorted. “Then I wouldn’t use his presence as an example. A Qunari that doesn’t do something you expect doesn’t mean he’s not going to – it just means something else is more important at the moment.”

The certainty in his voice made Sataareth’s stomach clench in terror. She had become used to Iron Bull’s watching presence, had even come to accept him as friendly, if not a friend. Yet the fear lurked in the back of her mind, always, and she knew Fenris was right. 

At least everyone’s priorities were in order, if nothing else. She could always attempt running later, when the world was safe enough for her to do so. 

There was a deep sigh and a final click of a box – Varric’s drafts and loose papers locked away, then a creak as he shifted in his chair. "You remember Corypheus? Large protodarkspawn napping under Kirkwall?" 

"Yes.” The change in subject made his tone skeptical. “What about it?" 

"He’s still alive." 

A louder scrape of a chair as Fenris stood. "Are you certain?" 

"I saw him with my own two eyes. He’s… gotten taller." 

"Is it after –?" 

"No, no. Not Hawke. Maybe a vendetta against the Inquisition by now, but Hawke’s safe.” He failed to mention the number of times he had risked himself and Cassandra’s anger in keeping her that way. 

“How long has it been… alive?" 

"Long enough to have forces and to open that Breach. The Inquisition– " 

"Yes, yes, I heard this part – the Inquisition was the only one trying to close it. You don’t need to sell me on it, dwarf. I’m here, am I not?" 

” _You’re_ here because the  _Venatori_ are here.“ 

A rattling noise sounded. She realized that it was a laugh, though not a particularly happy one. "That’s the main reason.” His tone sobered. “But I don’t see why this saarebas needs to be at the head of it. You say the Fade spat her out – is that not alarming for any of you?" 

Varric scoffed. “After the shit I’ve seen lately, a qunari mage falling out of the Fade is hardly anywhere near the top. Listen – you don’t have to like her, or trust her, but she kept the world from collapsing. That’s not hyperbole.” A pause. Apparently Fenris was either used to or accepting of Varric’s theatrical touches to conversation. “The alternative is letting the Rifts just shit demons all over everyone’s cabbage patches." 

There was a short pause, and the click of teeth as he closed whatever biting remark he had. "The Mark." 

"Yeah, that.”

There was a silence long enough for her to realize she hadn’t moved. She chewed on her lip and pushed off from the wall, rounding the corner. 

Varric paused partway through removing his spectacles. Fenris, leaned against the table, still in his travel clothes, shot her an appraising look. 

Shoulders shrugged in embarrassment, she cleared her throat. “Your voices carry,” she said quietly. Her eyes scanned them both quickly, still stopped mid-motion. Perhaps it would be better to simply speak to him. 

“Fenris – would you walk with me? I could show you to your room." 

He pushed himself away from the table, shooting Varric a look she couldn’t read. 

"I would rather not,” he said bluntly. “But I assume this is more about the conversation we’ll have along the way. In which you’ll try to convince me of your good intentions and the nature of magic as an innocent gift from the Maker.” His voice took on a lofty note, as if mockingly quoting someone else. 

The corner of her mouth turned upwards ruefully as his words struck an old ache inside. “Something along those lines.” She gestured toward the hallway she’d come from. 

He stepped from around the table, his brows knotted in reluctance, cloak settled around him rather than sweeping. He looked like a disgruntled cloth turtle. She could sympathize with that, at least. Skyhold was no warmer than Haven had been. 

Varric slowly finished lowering his glasses to the table. 

“Have a good night, Varric,” she said quietly, her head inclined in small thanks. He had done his best, and she had not met many that would defend her as he had. 

He raised a hand by way of goodbye. “Try not to tear up too much. Even when he’s happy, he’s angry." 

"Thank you for the insight, dwarf,” Fenris said from the hall. 

Sataareth offered the writer a final small smile and caught up with the elf on the stairs. 

Distantly, they both heard the dwarf scoff, “Well – shit.” Each smiled privately.

“I’m not offended,” she said, two steps behind him. It was true; hurt, yes. But not offended. 

“It’s not my concern whether or not you are." 

"I only mean you’re hardly the first person to raise those concerns. Including me." 

"Is that supposed to comfort me?” he snapped over his shoulder. 

“Am I supposed to care if you’re comforted?” she shot back. If he was to be blunt, then she had no reason to play diplomat. She was worthless at it without Josephine, anyway. 

They reached the landing. She opened the door for him, nodding politely at the few who still lingered in the main hall at this hour. They bowed their heads respectfully, which Fenris regarded with narrowed eyes. In silence, they stepped out onto the main stairs. A gust of frigid air blasted them immediately. Fenris pulled his cloak tighter and Sataareth pulled her scarf over her ears.

“How do you stand this weather?” he grumbled as he took a wary step down. There was snow on the steps and his shoes, she noticed, were thin. 

“Poorly and with many blankets,” she admitted. “I come from a warmer, drier climate.” Skyhold would not have been her first choice, and the idea of Corypheus picking his way across the sands and dry rocks of her home was amusing. But it would have been too far. 

“You  _have_ escaped, then,” he said. Even in his brief glance, she could see his eyes land on the sewing scars around her lips. Despite their age, they never seemed to fade. Though given that they didn’t glow as his did, they were still better.

“No,” she answered, discomfited. “I was born Vashoth. But my… community was Tal-Vashoth.” Some fears were hard to forget. A mage child had been among those fears. Some days, she wasn’t sure if it was behind her or still with her, though it hardly seemed to be her decision. 

But it appeared Leliana had been right; Fenris was at least aware of the culture, because his face showed recognition. He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again, his face shifting from anger to merely a thoughtful glower. It was possible that he was, indeed, always angry. 

She stepped down to the base of the steps, so that her face was even with his. “Let us speak plainly, Fenris,” she said, half a plea. Neither of them enjoyed being on ceremony, she was certain of it. “You are angry at magic, and I am afraid of it.” She held up her Marked hand by her chin, indicating her palm and her lips, the most obvious signs of her old and recent history aside from the missing horn. “But neither of us chose our marks. Don’t we have that in common?" 

He inhaled, then puffed air out from his nostrils, the exhalation steaming in the cold like a dragon’s warning breath. "Our marks are not the same." 

"I am glad they are not.” She met his eyes, lowered her hand from her face. “I would not wish my pain on anyone else. And I am sure you feel the same. That is why you’re here." 

His jaw tightened, disturbed, either that she knew about him, or perhaps more that he was someone to be discussed in meetings. He was a knot of tension – but he stood straight, unafraid. Sataareth admired that. "And why are you?”

 _Because I had no choice,_  she started to say, but instead she said, “I made friends,” and found it rang true. It wasn’t everything, but it was more true than not having a choice. “There are few to be had when the world hates all of me.” 

It would be irrational to leave the Inquisition to close the Breach on its own, without the Mark it so clearly needed. The brief and horrifying journey into the future was enough to prove that. But it was still her decision to stay. Being so exposed, so visible to so many people made her deeply unsettled. Years of fear and isolation made it hard. But she’d smiled more here than she had since her magic came. 

His face shifted, brows unknotting for just a moment, and he leaned back on his heels, scanning her as if seeing her for the first time. Only rather than looking for danger, he seemed to identify something else. “I… can understand that." 

"And to save the world, of course,” she added, her eyes crinkling. 

He blinked in surprise, then let out his half-laugh that sounded like a cough. 

“I could promise that I would be no danger. That I have no intention of leading armies anywhere. But intentions mean little. Instead I will promise you that a Chantry Sister and veteran of the Blight is the spymaster, a Templar commands the troops, a Ben-Hassrath reports what I eat for breakfast, and a very relentless Seeker leads them all.” 

If she should slip, as she silently feared with the Breach so close and her dreams so tangible, the damage would be limited. That, at least, had brought her some comfort. 

He considered her further from under the pale mop of hair so unsettlingly like her own. Then he gave the barest of nods. “Those are words I can trust. Not that I would have fought you now. Corypheus and the Venatori are more a more pressing matter." 

“How Qunari of you,” she said wryly, and he barked another short laugh. "I believe you. But we cannot assume enemies are among us. That makes us as disparate as any other group." 

They resumed walking, each gingerly stepping around unshoveled piles of snow. Now that they seemed to have reached an understanding, there was little to say. Whether that was good or bad, she was not yet sure. 

She led him to the rampart steps, near the collapsed wall they had yet to fix. They would have to start on the scaffolding for that soon, before the winter came in earnest. At the top of the steps, he paused to look over the courtyard and towers, pilgrims, merchants, and troops alike scattered in makeshift barracks and camps across the grounds. 

Soon the visitors would outgrow the space they had – they would have to start constructing something outside its walls, or along the bridge on the way in. Though the latter was a hazard, and Josephine had made it clear she would have none of it. 

"I still think this is a terrible idea,” he said, though more to himself than to her. 

Did he mean joining them, or the Inquisition as a whole? Or just her presence? She decided not to ask, though she wanted to assure him she still thought Cassandra was a better choice for leader than her. 

He pushed off from the ramparts and shook his head. “But it seems there’s no choice. Lead on…  _Inquisitor_." 

**Author's Note:**

> Extra special thanks to owlandraven and supertoastyqunari on tumblr for their proofreading. Errors are mine, because I am sometimes inept and ignore good advice. 
> 
> In this and future entries, I am looking to explore perspectives and points of collision on similar topics (chiefly magic, power, leadership, identity) between several characters. I heard the idea of Fenris being in Inquisition and loved the idea. Thought I'd combine them. 
> 
> Background relationships include Mage!Hawke / Fenris and Josephine / Sataareth, though they are not the focus.


End file.
